


Crash landing into you

by Cyanidal



Series: Hybrid Status [3]
Category: Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Void Demon Xisuma, but only vaguely/implied, only once, vague song fic, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:35:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyanidal/pseuds/Cyanidal
Summary: One moment he was standing, going through some oddly placed shulkers, and the next he was toppling to the ground. There’s a disorienting moment before Impulse processes he’s on top of whoever was a less than graceful flier. With a groan of pain, he moves quickly, stumbling to his feet. He’s about to question the hermit when he realizes just who came, literally, crashing in.“...Xisuma?”
Relationships: None - Platonic
Series: Hybrid Status [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2023840
Comments: 9
Kudos: 87





	Crash landing into you

**Author's Note:**

> Contains a few HC's (i.e Void Demon Xisuma) but you don't need to know to read. I'm not having a good time, so I vented onto who I usually do. Of course with comfort though, as always, because it's what I wish I had. Anyway.
> 
> Warning for the implication of self-harm.
> 
> \-------
> 
> Oneshot with the same hybrids as "Weight of the World" but not connected timeline/storyline wise

He was okay.   
  
Everything was okay.   
  
Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.   
  
Curled up in the corner of his room, he was starting to doubt himself further. In the back of his mind, he knew it was ridiculous. He was an adult; not a hormonal teenager. That didn’t stop the tears though. It didn’t stop the shaking or uneven breathing; it didn’t loosen the tail he had wrapped tight around him.   
  
His helmet lies across the room, the visor blinking sadly back at him. As if it were judging him and his actions. He pulled his knees tighter as he stared back at it. His armor lay in a similar pile near it, having been discarded ages before. Before everything just tipped over the edge; when he’d been reminding himself that his plain shirt and sweatpants were just for comfort's sake. It was only a half-lie. He just refused to acknowledge that the armor was too constricting, too suffocating, in an attempt to stem it off.   
  
It didn’t work.   
  
The angry red claw marks littered across his hands were proof of that.   
  
It was dark in the room, something he’d usually like. His eyes were more than capable of seeing through it, just not now. Not when they were puffy and dry, still finding tears from time to time. He just simply couldn’t convince himself to move from his spot on the floor. No willpower to, no reason to. They were better off with him off the grid. Tango was more than capable as an admin. More so than him, so why should he move? No, the floor was comfortable.   
  
The floor was safe.   
  
So why didn’t he feel it?   
  
Suddenly he felt an urge to go somewhere. A place very specific. Half of him still didn’t want to, but he knew he had to before he did something stupid. 

So he did.

Getting to his feet was a struggle, between shaky legs and clouded vision. He managed though, if only through tired determination. Bothering with his helmet or armor though was just too much effort, opting to shrug on his elytra over his casual wear. His horns had made a full appearance now too, so the helmet hadn’t been a reasonable option anyway.   
  
The moments between getting the elytra on and getting to the sky were a blur of darkness to sudden colors, awareness only returning when he was many feet above the ground. Everything was too bright, too much, but he had to get to the destination. It was the only thing his mind could focus on.   
  
At least it wasn’t a far flight on a good day.   
  
In hindsight, a graceful landing would have done better and saved some bruises. But that wasn’t the case. Crashing through the opening in the building, he topples into some unfortunate soul. Both people tumble to the ground in a pile, there’s a soft groan from the other person and he’s ended up back on the floor. Except now he has no desire to move again, so he doesn’t.   
  
It’s quiet for a beat, but it doesn’t last. Never does.   
  
“...Xisuma?”   
  


* * *

  
One moment he was standing, going through some oddly placed shulkers, and the next he was toppling to the ground. There’s a disorienting moment before Impulse processes he’s on top of whoever was a less than graceful flier. With a groan of pain, he moves quickly, stumbling to his feet. He’s about to question the hermit when he realizes just who came, literally, crashing in.   
  
“...Xisuma?”   
  
The admin in question is curled on the floor of his base still, void traits unmasked and in full view. Impulse’s gaze softens as he leans down, gently lifting the other hermit into his arms. There’s a small whine before he’s curling toward Impulse, tucking his head under the taller man's chin.    
  
His bedroom is small, but the bed is larger than the average. Zedaph always joked that it’s because Impulse is such a violent sleeper. That never was the case.   
  
It’s not the first time Xisuma has done this, wordlessly flying into his base looking like a wreck. Sometimes words are shared, but this time the admin is deathly quiet. Impulse simply hums a tune to fill the quiet, gently laying Xisuma onto the bed before curling behind him.   
  
It’s not often the younger man will visibly cry after arriving, but as soon as Impulse has settled Xisuma flips to his other side, Fists clenched into the redstoners shirt as his shoulders shudder with quiet sobs. His face is buried deep into his chests, small horns poking Impulse but he doesn’t dare move.   
  
Slowly, he brings a hand to Xisuma’s head, running his fingers through the short hair there. He begins hiccuping slightly then, to which impulse quietly shushes him as he slides his other arm under the admin, pulling him closer.   
  
Times like these are few and far between, but they tear at Impulse each time. The young admin overworks himself immensely, all while fighting his own internal battles. Each time it goes for too long, too far, and he ends up back here when it snaps. When the wires pull too far and threaten to tear him apart, so he searches for comfort where he knows it exists.   
  
Impulse asked once on a better night, when Xisuma had been talking, why he never asked for help. Why he never asked if Tango or Joe could take over for a small amount of time.   
  
He looked utterly shattered as his eyes finally met Impulse’s own, “You’ll never understand why it’s so hard to say ‘I’m not okay’.”   
  
And he was right; Impulse didn’t understand. He probably wouldn’t ever.   
  
But none of that mattered as his friend's tears finally stopped, hiccups slowly turning to ragged breathing. None of the why mattered now, not when this was just what he needed.   
  
Impulse could never understand the things Xisuma does or the reasons why. They were things that couldn’t be put into words; feelings that can’t be explained. What Impulse does understand is how to be a friend; how to remind the admin that he isn’t alone. That his arms were always open.   
  
He knew Xisuma wasn’t okay, even if he’d never admit to it. But maybe he would be in the end; that’s all that mattered to Impulse.


End file.
